FAR 

V\^EST 

POEMS 



By 

WILLIAM DALLAS FERREE 



FAR 
\^^ EST 
POEMS 



By 
WILLIAM DALLAS FERREE 



DES MOIXES, IOWA . 
JXLAXI) PRINTING COMPANY 

1004. 



L.BRmKY yf CONGRESS 
Tw« Copies Received 

FEB 5 1904 

. ^ Copyright Entry 
j <ZLASS «-- XXc. No. 
\ COPY 8^ 



s\\ 



0^ 



Copyright, KXM, by 
WILLIAM DALIAS FFJiKEK 



l)K'iK 1\eai>er: 

This litttie book, descriptive of the 
Went, past and present, is intended 
as a tribute to the brave men and 
womeii who endured the many 
hardsliiij-s and })rivatio]]>j of pioneer 
lite. 




^,>*-x 




?^ 



^'. 



L 



THE FAR, FAR WEST. 

Once these fields, these beauteous western plains. 

Was but the habitation of strang-e men 
Whose history vanished with them; nor remains 

One treasured pag^e to tell the white man when 
He first laid claim upon this scenic land. 

When first he strolled about these lovely hills. 
When first the wily chieftain led his band 

Of dusky warriors by these g-entle rills. 

A child of Nature, born where prairies sweep 

In charming- undulation far away, 
Where roll fair rivers, beautiful and deep. 

On which his light canoe was wont to play; 
What must have been the ag-ony, at last. 

That filled his soul, when immigration's flow 
Poured in upon his habitations fast, 

And he was forced to farther westward go. 

These prairies were his hunting grounds; 'twas 
here 

The bison thundered o'er the plains in fright; 
And w^andering in timidity, the deer. 

At sight of some bold hunter, took its flight 
Across the g-reyish wastes of boundless space. 

And these were scenes that pleased the Indian's 
eye, 
And made him furious for th' exciting chase, 

That closed not 'till a manv a-moon went bv- 



THE FAR, FAK WEST. 



He looked upon the white man as men do 

Upon some evil spirit, in whose hand 
Is borne a rod of terror and of woe, 

To mete destruction to a helpless land. 
He taug-ht his children never to reveal 

The cherished secrets of his savaj^e life; 
And so remains, firm-clasped beneath a seal, 

The thrilling- story of a wondrous strife. 

The changing- seasons sere the autumn leaf, 

And blig-ht and kill the flowers that sweetly bloom. 
And Nature, lonely Nature, in her grief 

Is wrapped in silence o'er the pitying- g-loom. 
And what availeth aught of life, alas! 

To Nature's self, so desolate and lone. 
With flowers and leaves heaped in one faded mass. 

And all her gladness and her beauty flown. 

Thus spake La-sha-ro in comparison 

Of the departed braves, who, year by year. 
Their little race of life have quickly run, — 

Who sleep where never visitors appear. 
The thousands buried by our western streams, 

Or where the prairie in its beauty lies. 
Like thing-s ignoble born of troubled dreams. 

Died and are lost in death's dark mysteries. 

Once these fields, this beauteous western laud. 
Was one vast solitude. By nature blest 



THE FAR, FAIl WICST. 



Were ^ill these plains, these streams which flow so 
grand, 
And all was known as only the wild West. 
Here bloomed fair flowers, such still as bloom and 
g'row 
Where earth's neg-lected hills and landscapes 
be- 
Here on these plains, and in these valleys low, 
And prairies rolling- like the waves of sea. 

Here, all the day, did sing the prairie lark, 

With none to hear the carol, note the strain, 
Save roaming- beast, and w^olves that howl and bark, 

And hostile Indian roaming- o'er the plain. 
But what to him was melody of song-. 

Or bloom of flower, or likeness of the ways 
That hourly round the cultured homstead throng. 

To bring contentment to man's weary days. 

What g-rander scene could Nature's self enfold 

In her sweet beauty, than these plains around, 
These rivers fair, these hills and mountains bold, 

By white man not yet traveled, not yet found. 
In summer pretty in its g-arb of g-reen. 

In winter mournful in its shroud of snow, 
Where white man's presence never yet had been, 

And dauntless hunter even feared to g-o. 

The Indian beating westward some new trail, 
The wolf's increasinsf hung-er, and the hiss 



THE IWK, FAR WKST. 



Of startled reptile fleeing- from the vale- 
Could artist paint a scene more weird than this? 

A picture painted by no mortal hand 

Of all thing-s wild still further westward pressed, 

Beheld by those who came first to this land, 
Which once was known as only the wild West. 

A LITTLE INCID^:NT. 

One day old Uncle Sam resoh^ed to try 

To rid Nebraska of the redskin pest; 
He sent some troops (and winking- his right eye) 

Said, "Go and drive the redskins further west. 
So fair a land as brig-ht Nebraska be 

Must not be held in check by savag-e men; 
Her star is in our flag- of liberty, 

Go drive them west, in haste;" and quickly then 

A troop was formed of brave Nebraska boys; 

A friend of mine and others joined the band, 
And g-iven their g-uns and all that war implies, 

They started forth to drive them from the land. 
This friend of mine implored of me to g*o, 

But I declined (had foug-ht for Uncle Sam), 
And seemed impelled to answer my friend *-no/^ 

And stay in peace and safety where I am. 

And they went forth, lieutenant brave at head. 
Lieutenant sent from Washington to wipe 

The earth with the redskins 'till they were dead, 
Or deig-ned to kiss our flag-, each star and stripe. 



A distance out they halted — formed — besran 
The march into the wild lands of the west; 

Arriving- by the stream Republican 

They halted — ^camped — retired to sleep and 
rest. 

The tale of Custer's fate and of his men 

Could not be sadder, speaking- of the end 
Of these brave boys, for it was only when 

They all were killed, including my dear friend, 
The savage Sioux did further westward g-o. 

A mother watched and waited, so did I, 
She for her son, I for my friend, but lo! 

As still the years so painfully go by 

No spirit comes from out the West to tell 

Where he was slain, or where his body lies. 
Or by what ruthless means he bravely fell. 

Tell us, O angels! watching in the skies. 
Where our dear friend, so young- and brave, doth 
sleep. 

That in our hope we may have fuller joy; 
That in our g-rief we may not always weep — 

Crocker his name, a noble Iowa boy. 

MEN OF THE PIONEER DAYS. 

The Pioneer! What can w^e say of him, 

His hardships, dang-ers, courage, hopes and 
fears? 
The mem'ry of hi^^ deeds is growing dim, 



10 THE FAR, PA71 AVEST. 

Overshadowed by the chang-es of the years. 
Around us g-lows a more resplendent li^ht. 

Reflected from Prog-ression's stern advance, 
Before whose rays all new things take their flight, 

With scarcely time to pause or backward glance. 

Himself his own bold leader, far away 

Beyond where ever white man\sfootstepspressed, 
He cast his lot, and daring- there to stay, 

His courage tamed the wildness of the West. 
His courage gave to others better hope 

The far-off journey to the West to tr3^ 
And to the view the prairie's boundless scope 

Nearer it seemed to them to calmly lie. 

A land as wild as any ocean tide 

And boundless as its spreading waters seemed 
When ships sailed only from its Eastern side, 

And bold Columbus of its boundaries dreamed! 
The same bright stars that made the sea seem sad 

In e'en their most enchanting brilliancy 
For all the world a heavenly gladness had 

To bless as well the prairie as the sea. 

Ah! there was sweetest grandeur in each vale. 
Quiet as slumber on an infant's face, 

With none to view it, none its charms to hail. 
Except the tribes of an untutored race. 

And there was room for earth's unnumbered poor 
The East and old Paciflc's coast between. 



THE FAR, lAi; WEST. 11 

The Pioneer, he opened wide the door 

And thousands to the plains came flocking- in. 

Since now all thing-s are chang-ed, and everywhere 

Is marked the g-lorious betterment of man, 
Oh! let us not forget the Pioneer, 

But g-ladden him whenever most we can; 
And speak and sing- his praise 'till all the years 

Allotted him and us shall cease to be; 
Remember him in all our smiles and tears. 

Who sought and found this land so fair and free. 

WOMEN OF THE PIONEER DAYS. 

In our praise of men, let us not forg-et 

The women who came with them to this land; 
Who shared the hardships by those brave men met, 

Enduring- all with willing- heart and hand. 
By nature they were not inclined to break 

The ties that bind the heart to friends and home, 
But for a husband's or a father's sake, 

Far to the lonely West behold them come. 

Behold them dwell in houses built of sod. 

Adobes with often but one little room. 
And in their love to man and prayer to God, 

Were lost to half its darkness and its g-loom. 
A wish would come betinies and stay — and sta}^ — 

Tender and tearful, round the longing- heart, 
To see once more the old home, far awav, 

Within the East — that land of wealth and art. 



12 THE FAU, FAPv WEST. 

But they endured the long-ing- and the lot ] 

Of sad uneasiness such long-ing-s bring-, i 

And toiling- on, awhile 'twas all forgot, | 

And happy as a prairie lark found cause to sing. \ 

This great land here, this g-arden-spot of earth, 
By cities, farms, and railways amply blest. 

Owes to the pioneer its honored birth, ' 

By his approach into the far, far West. ; 

1 

Look on the picture! Here where cities stand, ■] 

And railroads w^eb the pretty prairies o'er, | 

And lovely farms abound on every hand, — ! 

Here where was only wilderness before. i 

Ay, when is penned the book of western life, i 

Go place the name of woman in the part j 

That tells the most of hardships. Maid and wife, \ 

Eachsharedthe brunt with patient hand and heart, j 

They dwelt where life was every day the same, 

A long- and irksome uneventful round, < 

Where change of scene or custom never came, ; 

And Fashion's brilliancy did not abound ' 
To please the eye and to divert the view 

From the fixed sameness which the prairies bear; ; 

To feel exhaled at seeing- something- new, \ 

Besides the g-reen dress that the prairies wear. ; 

They looked upon the pretty prairie flowers; j 

It made them think of roses in their bloom ' 

Away within the pretty Eastern bowers, ^ 



THE FA1{, FAK WEST. ].') 

Or near some dear one's ever silent tomb. 
Ay, when is penned the book of western life, — 

Dear author, — telling- truly of the days 
Of how the new states suffered in their strife. 

Let thy best story be to woman's praise. 

AN INDIAN FEAST. 

There was haste of Indians, and I saw 

Bucks, squaws, and young warriors passing- near 

Down to a barnyard filled with stacks of straw, 
And cattle in one corner. It was here 

Within this barnyard that a feast was on; 
A fatted bovine did the Indians buy, 

And almost ere the lovely morning's dawn 

- Upon the ground I saw the bovine lie 

Slaughtered and dressed and ready for the feast. 

There was present at this feast La-sha-ro, 
The Pawnee chief, and hater of the East, 

Which land he claimed was cause of all his woe. 
The sun appeared, then halted it did seem, 

As if to mark earth's desolation round, 
And in the west, where, lovely as a dream, 

Unnumbered miles o-f trackless plains abound. 

A voice rang- out — 'twas signal to begin 

The feast the Indians so much prized, adored; 

A voice rang out — 'twas signal to fall in — 
In circle round the chief and festal board. 

La-sha-ro raised his arm toward the West; 



14 THE FAR, FAR WEST. 

In his strong" hand he held a carving* knife; 
He plung-ed the knife into the bovine's breast, 
And then commenced the powwow and the strife 

The strife to g-et a chunk of that raw beef, 

To be dealt out in many' forms and dribs 
By one lone hand — that of the noted chief. 

And there was fill of bone, and flesh, and ribs; 
Those Indians ate, continued to all day. 

Of the raw meat, until I thought they'd die. 
They offered me a share — I rode away. 

Exclaiming- to myself "not much — good-bye." 



LA-SHA-RO. 
La-sha-ro was as brav^e a chief 

As ever Indian knew, 
But to the paths that led to war 

He long- since bade adieu; 
Heioved the white man's peaceful ways, 

And loved the white man's land, 
And fellowship could well be read 

Within his dusky hand. 

His tribe, the Paw^nee, once could count 

Full forty thousand braves, 
But they are numbered with the dead 

And sleeping- in their graves, 
Except the dismal few still spared 

To waste away a life 
The strangest and the saddest known 

In all this earthly strife. 

In sig-ht of fields of waving corn, 

And fruits of luscious taste; 
In sound of labor's honest noise. 

And labor's needful haste; 
In reach of all ennobling- things 

Intended for man's g"Ood, 
No charm has drawn the Indian near 

The world's g-reat brotherhood. 
A sorrow weighs upon his heart, 

Which once was full of hate; 



LA-SIIA-RO. 

He mourns the chang-e the years have 
wroug-ht, 

And calls it cruel fate; 
He speaks few words, but he has said: 

"Our people are oppressed, 
The white man took the East from us, 

And now he takes the West." 

La-sha-ro's counsels were for peace; 

He knew the fig-ht was o'er; 
He heard the knock of Prog-ress' hand 

Upon his wigwam door. 
He told his people to be brave, 

But not as once in war, — 
Be brave and meet with cordial will 

The pale-faced conqueror. 



THE LAND THAT I LOVE. 

I look on the scenes that abound in such beauty 
Around where the landscapes sweep far to the 
West, 

And I feel In my heart 'tis a citizen's duty 
To tell or to sing- of the land he loves best. 

I have traveled the Northland extensively over, 
Have marched through the South where the pine 
g-randly towers. 
And have dwelt in the East, by its pastures of 
clover,^ — 
All g-ems in the crown of this countr}^ of ours. 

But over and far in that land comprehendless, 
To ever be known as the land of the West, 

Where all that is lovely is ample and endless, 
Is the land dear to me— the land I love best. 

'Tis the land where forever in beauty the river. 
The prairie, the mountains, and hills I adore. 

Receive from the hands of the bountiful giver 
Of Nature's g-reat g'ifts, all her rarest in store. 

The land where a people born poor found compas- 
sion. 
And competence true in the days long- ago, 
Removed from the scenes of their childhood, where 
fashion 
And wealth brought their train darkly laden with 
woe. 



IS THE r,AXT) THAT I LOVE. 

Ill the days long- ag-o! Who has written the story 
How the pioneer led the whole world to the plains, 

And shame if at last not a mention of g^lory, 

Nor a song-, nor a word, to his mem'ry remains. 

O where is the blessing our forefathers cherished, 
And soug-ht to bestow on America new? 

And where are their lessons of love? Are they 
perished? 
And where, if still living, is fellowship true? 

In the West I will answer. Oh! yes, where the 
river. 
The prairie, the mountains, and hills standing 
near. 
Live and smile on and on in their beauty forever, 
Is fellowship found, blessing all with its cheer. 



IOWA. 

I do not wonder tliat Iowa has taken the position it has in 
the counsels of the nation, that it has assumed tlie leadershi]) 
which it has done, w^hen I see not merely your soil, your farms, 
your products; but those best of all products — the men and 
women. — Theodore Roosevelt. 



IOWA. 

Hast ever watched how brig-ht the stars 
Appear within the western skies, 

Those lovely, ever chang-eless stars, 
So near to where the prairie lies; 

And how all seemed so g-rand, and near 
To where the weary mortal trods; 

And how the picture seemed so dear 
To heart and eye — that work of God's. 

In charming- semblance see as fair 

A scene upon our vision fall; 
Behold the stars of statehood there, 

With that of Iowa bright as all- 
There — on our country's flag', dear flag", 

Surviving throug-h so many wars — 
From whose brig-ht folds no foe could drag 

To dust its ever shining stars. 

Here where such g-lorious splendor lies. 
Strange, yet enchanting to the view; 

Where' farms abound, and cities rise. 
And men a life of thrift pursue. 

Who bravely pressed their weary way 
Westward in search of this fair soil. 

Soon none will celebrate that day 
In annual gathering. By the toil 



And hardships that man undertakes 

Within the West, great blessings come, 

And presently surprised awakes 
The vale to greet some new-made home. 

Within thy homes, oh! Iowa, 

May common friendship long- abide. 

By folly often spurned away, 
Too oft bv envious folk denied. 



NIGHT IN THE MOUNTAINS. 

Where the western mountains rear 

To a dizzy heig"ht, 
Still and solemn, dark and drear, 

Is the hush of nig-ht. 
Sweet-voiced rivers murmur low 
As throug-h dusky vales they flow. 
Being- like some one at rest 
With no sorrow on his breast. 

Night when beautiful and calm 
Doth great charms possess, 

Falling like a soothing balm 
On the wilderness. 

In the soft mesmeric spell 

Bird and beast to sleep have fell. 

And the savag-e Indian vields 

Hunting g-rounds for dreamland fields. 

Passion, like the heated day. 

By the breath of nig-ht. 
Cools and quickly breaks away — 

Vanished in its flig-ht. 
Savage beast in cozy lair, — 
Panther fierce, or mountain bear, — 
Or the slimy snakes that creep, 
Craving only rest and sleep. 
Echoing in the mountain pass 

Indian veils abound, 



NKillT 1\ TlfE .AIOrXTAIX.s. 

And the hunter brave, alas! 

Trembles at the sound. 
In his dream all this he hears, 
And awaking in his fears^ 
Finds the earth enwrapped in sleep, 
O'er which stars their vig-il keep. 

In the spell of nig-htly awe, 

By brig-ht stars caressed. 
On his bed of leaves and straw 

Doth the miner rest; 
Sad is sleep when in its arms 
Dreamers long- for other charms. 
Reaching- forth to fasten hold 
On a void— instead of g-old. 

Perched aloft, nor seen, nor heard, 

O'er earth high above, 
vSleeps the weary eagle bird. 

Gentle as the dove. 
It would seem no heart could crave 
Terror to a bird so brave, 
Howe'er wild the sport might seem, 
Howe'er wild the eag-le's scream. 

But what cares the hunter bold 

Long- within the West; 
He will not the charg-e withhold 

Pointed at its breast; 
And when from its perch on high 



XKiirr IN THE MOrXTAIXS. 

It drops down to earth to die, 
Strang-e its death should not awake 
Pity for our country's sake. 

Valleys fair sweep far and wide, 

With a silence g-rand, 
O'er which look the hills in pride, — 

All a wild some land. 
In his dreams of friends and home, 
Lonely doth the hermit roam, 
Through these vales, and o'er these hi\h 
By the mountain streams and rills. 

Nig-ht to him is all too brief. 

For he loves its shade; 
It accords best with his grief 

Disappointment made. 
Strange and weak as it may seem, 
In the mountains sleep and dream, 
'Neath the pale moon high above, 
Men demented — ^all for love! 



MY MOTHER'S GRAVE. 

IN A CEMKTICKY IN NEBRASKA. 

Mother! this is thy grave, they say, 

I know not — on thy burial day 

Thy child was in a distant land 

And could not clasp, dear one, thy hand. 

I well remember when I left 

How sad, how sorry, and bereft 

Of joy and cheerfulness thou seemed. 

Upon my heart there never fell 

Before so sad the word farewell 

As when thou said: '' My child, g-ood-bye, 

And then began to g"rieve — and cry. 

With tears that fairly streamed. 

To say that this is not thy tomb. 

This mound of beauty, yet of g"loom, 

Would all the tears and g-rief belie 

Of those who by it weep and sigh. 

Mother! this is thy g-rave, for now 

A household doth beside it bow, 

And I, with them, g-rieve bitterly, 

Because no more thy face I see. 

The 'funeral bell was slowly tolled, 

Kind friends assembled to behold 

Thy g-entle hands placed on thy breast. 

Thy form enshrouded for its rest, 

Thine eyes prepared for lasting- sleep, 



>IY MOTIIEIJ 8 (iK AVE. 



No more to grieve — no more to weep. 

And I was absent, and will miss 

Thy words of parting- and thy kiss! 

Mother! thy life was like the flowers, 

So tender ^through the trying- hours 

Of human struggle, human care, 

And all of patience though didst bear. 

Alone the gracious God on high 

Can read a mother's joy, or sigh; 

Alone the gracious God Above 

Can know a mother's faithful love! 

It does not seem that thou art dead. 

But "this is death," an angel said, 

That came down through the morning light. 

To watch thy spirit take its flight. 

If never more I pass near by 

This graveyard, where I weep and sigh; 

If never more within its gloom 

I walk to visit thy dear tomb, 

Where'er I wander, or may dwell, 

The story of thy love I'll tell, 

Farewell ! Dear mother! O farewell ! 



MI SCEI.LATS' KOt^S. 

To o-ivc variety, tlie following miscellaneous selections 
are added. 



AN EVENING MEDITATION. 

I know the world is full of cheer, 
And joys surround us year by year; 
I know the hours that hasten by 
Not all on wing-s of sorrow fly; 
I know hearts may be g-ay and lig-ht, 
But mine is very sad to-nig-ht. 

I fancy on that storied shore, 
('Where none return who go before'), 
I see the forms of those I knew 
Upon this earth — friends kind and true. 
I miss their smiles — their voices glad — 
Their presence here — and I am sad. 

In every heart however gay, 
However sweet life speeds aw^ay; 
In every heart however glad, 
Some sorrow comes to make it sad, — 
To rob it of its peace and light. 
As mine is thus made sad to-night. 



A TRIBUTE TO COURAGE. 

He looked upon the deep blue sea, 
Outstretched beneath a sunny sky, 

And saw how swift and billowy 
Tide after tide rolled grrandiy by, 

And wave and distance in their might 

Seemed more to fire his wild delight. 

He knew how frail was man beside 
The ocean in its calmest sleep, 

But he with seaman's hope and pride. 
Feared not the horrors of the deep. 

Tide, darkness, and the sea's unrest, 

Were scenes he seemed to love the best. 

None yet who left their native shore. 
With spirit glad, and prospect fond, 

Had ever sailed the wide seas o'er. 
In quest of fairer lands beyond. 

Faith, courage, and ambition fled! 

Thev saw no light of hope ahead. 

''I'll go — and may not see again 
The beauties of my native shore; 

Farewell to home, and friends, and Spain, 
I'll sail the boundless waters o'er." 

And every solemn word awoke 

A sense of sadness as he spoke. 



A TRIBITE TO «<)1 KAliE. 



All ready for the voyage, thro ugh 
The mists of ocean forth he sailed. 

While round him constant dangers grew. 
And fiercer storms his ships assailed; 

And for long days no sign around 

Foretold the dismal ocean's bound- 

The warrior leads his men with pride 

To victory — all strong and brave, 
And yet the charge is faint beside 

The strife of courage with the wave. 
The baffled hosts may shun defeat. 
But sinking ships cannot retreat- 
All hail the day Columbus came 

And set his foot upon this shore! 
Long live the noble seaman's name, . 

Who sailed the deep blue waters o'er, — 
Who sought and found this fair land here. 
The world's great Western Hemisphere! 



LIFE. 

Life, like our labor, bears its trace 
Of noble worth, or dark disg^race; 
We leave behind in what we do, — 
By eifort pictured to our view, — 
Our tasks complete, or illy done, 
For life is not the same nor one — 

It has its strang-e misleading^ roads. 
With pilg^rims bearin*^ heavy loads. 
If in the pathway of the just 
Is placed our footsteps, faith, and trust. 
Then Hope will come ere far we've g^one, 
And glad will be the journey on ! 

Life's burdens are what sag^es call 

The cares and sorrows that befall 

The human soul, more keen to some 

Bereft of comfort and of home; 

Bereft of every social bliss. 

Of friendship's love, and friendship's kiss. 

If eyes that meet yours prove most true, 

That truth will always g^ladden yon; 

If words you hear are soft and kind. 

Those words will bless your troubled mind. 

And deep in memory's holy place 

Will each be kept with lasting grace. 



It lies within each willing- heart 

To bear in life some noble part; 

To g-ladden others by some deed 

Of precious kindness, for we need, 

Who find but little mercy here, 

A friend's remembrance and his cheer. 



it,, b 1904 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




